


To Have You Here With Me

by jeeno2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Babies, Canon Compliant, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Introspection, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: Jon and Sansa become parents.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [just_a_dram](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_dram/gifts).



> Written over two years ago in honor of the birth of justadram's first baby. Reposted from my drabble collection (as it's nearly 1000 words long) and cleaned up a bit from its original version. Just a bit of family fluff. ;)

The first time Sansa is able to feel her child stir from within she is in the solar, reclining on the worn settee that was once her lady mother's.  

She is alone when it happens, Jon having just left an hour ago to fetch more firewood with Arya.  Sansa is nearly asleep, her feet propped up on two soft pillows in an attempt to ease the nearly constant dull ache in her lower back that began almost immediately after their child took root within her.  Her eyes are closed, and her hands rest comfortably on the small swell of her belly (a new and awkward thing, this belly; something Jon claims to love, but a thing to which she has not yet fully adjusted).  The sweet melodies of the newly-returned spring jays waft to her through her opened window as she dozes.

And then suddenly, without warning, a wee, but unmistakable flutter from within neatly splits Sansa’s life into a  _before_  and an _after._

Her eyes spring open and she looks down at hands, clasped together and resting just a few inches north of the spot where her child moves.  Sansa tentatively slides her hands downward — slowly, very slowly; as though a movement too sudden might shatter the dream.  But the tiny flutters inside her continue, the babe clearly undeterred and utterly oblivious to her mother’s nervousness and awe. 

When the palms of Sansa’s hands finally reach her belly she cannot help but smile.

“Hi,” she says, very quietly, to her babe.  Just a fortnight ago the very idea of speaking to their unborn child would have felt ridiculous.  Would have  _been_ ridiculous.  But everything is different now, and suddenly this is  _real._ In this moment, speaking to their child feels as natural a thing to do as taking in air.

 _“_ I’m your mother, sweetling,” Sansa whispers reverently.

There are no more kicks that afternoon.  No more flutters or bumps she can feel.  But it doesn’t matter.  Sansa is going to be a mother, and Jon a father.  

She cannot think of anything more perfect or miraculous than that.

* * *

 

She considers telling him about it when he returns from the godswood that afternoon.  As he stacks wood by the hearth, red in the face from exertion and from the frigid early spring temperatures, Sansa can see what his reaction will be, perfectly, in her mind’s eye.  The way the corners of his gray eyes will crinkle in delight as he smiles at her.  The happy, incredulous tears that will likely fall.  

But after a few moments’ contemplation Sansa decides to keep the news to herself for just a little while longer.  Soon enough their daughter’s kicks will be vigorous enough for them both to feel and see them.  For reasons she does not fully understand, just for now – for another hour or two at most; Sansa wouldn’t dream of hiding something like this from Jon for long – she wants to keep this a sweet secret only she and their babe will share.

* * *

 

It has been nearly a full moon’s turn since Lyanna was born.  But it still takes Sansa’s breath away, every time, whenever she comes upon Jon cradling their daughter in his arms.   

It is the middle of the night, and Sansa finds them in the solar this time, Jon reclining and half-asleep on the old worn settee as Lyanna, all blanket and swaddling and downy auburn hair, sleeps peacefully in his arms. 

Sansa tries to approach quietly, but a floorboard creaks under her tread, startling Jon fully awake.

“Hi,” she whispers, the right half of her mouth quirking up in a half-smile.  The room is unlit, but enough moonlight streams in through the open curtains for Sansa to make out the prominent dark circles under Jon’s eyes.  It makes no sense whatsoever that he should be nearly as exhausted as she is, given that she, and she alone, can give their daughter suck.  But Sansa could never deny Jon anything he wants.  And he clearly has as much need of time with their infant daughter as she does.

“Hi,” Jon whispers back to her, the look on his face unreadable.

Sansa leans forward and gently presses her lips to her husband’s.  Without setting the babe down he awkwardly wraps his arms around Sansa’s middle and buries his face in her neck.

“I never thought I’d love something this much.  That I’d need something this much,” he admits wetly against Sansa’s skin, his voice shakier than she can ever remember it being. Then he adds, nervously, hastily:  "Aside from you of course.”

Sansa laughs a little at his words, but she thinks _: I understand._

She helps Jon off the settee and out of the solar a moment later, leading him wordlessly to their chambers and to their soft featherbed, where all this began three years. (It was unplanned and unexpected, that first joining; but destined to happen nonetheless. She believes that now.)

Resting her head on Jon’s shoulder, Sansa smiles happily to herself as she nestles their babe between them.

 _All's right with the world_ , she thinks drowsily, as she drifts off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
